Fading To Dust
by Fxrthking
Summary: Friendships forged in combat are like no other. Ironic, since combat holds no leeway or consideration for the man behind the soldier. Basically, when Nix's day goes from not-so-bad to Hell-would-be-better-than-this. (Bromance at most, no slash.)


**Chapter 1- **En Medias Res

**Warnings**: Language, War Scenes, Gore, Violence, Dark Themes, Descriptions of wounds/illness, Blood, etc.

**Timeline**: Bastogne

**Setting**: Forest

**A/N**: Not as bad as it seems, promise. No beta so feel free to point out mistakes.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any rights to Band of Brothers or the book it's based on. Nor do I wish to mock/slander/jest with or disgrace their names &amp; that part of history.  
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_"__The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for"-Bob Marley_  
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The inconclusive high whistling of flying HE mortar rounds was a constant piercing sound, multiple incomings making it difficult to pin-point where they would be landing. It was one of those duck down into the nearest foxhole and pray for the best outcome as possibly, and wait out the terrifying minutes/hours of the sudden barrage.

The compact earth giving way with ease with each impact of the high caliber explosives,  
dirt spewing up from the misshapen craters they created to blanket along the tops of helmets and uniforms of those pressing themselves as far as they were able in their dugouts. White knuckled grips on their rifles, reflexively clutching onto a lifeline they had been trained to always have on them, or in some cases, onto their foxhole partners. Each and everyone praying to make it through this.

Though the jobs of superior officers was to ensure the safety of those under them, thus aside from the medics -Roe and Spina- sprinting across the current battleground, Captain Nixon and Captain Winters accompanied the fray. Each attempting to rally the men into order. The machine gun teams snapping to their positions quickly to return fire whilst the mortar teams had to relocate in order for their rounds to pass the tree tops and actually make it to the German lines. Riflemen followed soon after, thanks to the examples of the others and at seeing the fearless actions of their commanding officers stopping at nearly every foxhole, while managing to get off a few shots themselves.

It was the rugged rumbling of tank tracks that had Captain Nix pausing momentarily to open both eyes and pull away from his rifle sight, spotting two Panzer IV rolling roughly over the lip of their earth formed fortifications. Their long 75mm weapon shafts swiveling towards our lines as they peaked their protective mounds and continued down to ensure their accuracy.

"Tanks! They've got tanks! ." One of the replacements shouted out in a high squeaking voice in direct contrast to the constant sound of discharging weapons, which received a snapped "No shit!" from Staff Sergeant Guarnere. And thus prompted several stressed yet amused chuckles from the rest of the men. Including Nix himself.

Though the moment of humor was broken when Nix glanced over to Winters' position, curious if he'd see that half-exasperated half amused look in the other captain's gaze like it always was when the troops were able to make jokes during times of intense firefighting. Instead he saw the other man charging towards him, his stance still bent low to make him less of a target but still swift in his run before he collide with a stunned NIx, and not moments later his ears were ringing and he was covering in the dirt debris thrown up when a mortar shell exploded no more than six feet from them. Though it would have been directly where Nix had been stationed, if it hadn't been for Winters' quick actions.

Nix groaned lowly, the impact of the round's shock waves plus the concentrated weight of his best friend now savior adding to the ache settling in his bones and tired muscles. Though it was a welcomed feeling over being dead or grievously injured.

"Alright, you can get off me now." Nix voice was strained from the weight centred on his chest, still being able to chuckle breathlessly, "And buy me a drink first next time."

A low groan was all the reply that the second captain received, though it was enough to wipe the grin from his expression and have him quickly moving to gingerly manoeuvre Winters off of his chest. Now feeling something wet seeping down from the other man onto his own side, a decidedly carmine coloured wet.

"Dick!?" Captain Nix disbelievingly yelled as he finally gently moved Captain Winters onto his back and say up enough to have the other officer's head resting in his lap. His gaze darting towards the increasingly vast amount of red pooling under his best friend's frame and soaking into Nix's trousers, "Oh God,- - Just hang on. Doc will fix you up."

"MEDIC!" His voice nearly cracked at how loud he cried out, his desperation bleeding into his tone unwillingly. The panic, thankfully, remained internalised. "MEDIC! DOC!"

The sounds of running feet, pounding against the abused ground reassured Nix that help was quickly arriving. A quick glance up confirmed the sight of Doc sprinting over to their location, medical bag held secure to his side by a single hand whilst one held his helmet to his head as his speed threatened to knock it off entirely. It was a welcome sight, especially when he glanced back at his best friend's face and seeing the extremely pale pallor of his skin.

"It's gonna be alright. Doc's coming." Nix stated calmly, forcing himself to smile lightly, though his hand shook as he ran his fingers over Winters' mussed up red hair, and pressed a heavy hand to the visible wound at his right side. Thus eliciting a sharply bit off gasp of white hot agony, "Sorry, buddy, but I have to stop the bleeding."

Wanting to keep his best friend's mind off of the pain that was causing the other to tremble and become increasingly pale, almost grey in his pallor. While keeping one hand pressed to the oozing side, he reached over with his other hand to again run it over the red hair. As his finger brushed across the other's forehead and through his hair once more, the pain pinched brow fell away along with the grimace that held his usually stoic expressionless face in a vice. And his eye began to drift shut.

"No no, stay awake, Dick. You know that drill, stay awake until Doc gets you the morphine and your off to an aid station." The dark haired Captain felt himself speaking aimlessly to keep the fading CO's eyes and attention trained on him, "Think about it; several weeks off with nurses at your beck and call, nice bed to sleep in and semi-better food. And not to men- -"

"Nix?- -" Came the too quiet whisper from the downed Captain, the very sound stilled Nix's voice and caused ice to freeze his veins, "It's- -me."

Nixon laughed outrightly, the sound was taunt and held a hysterical edge to it, at hearing that. Though he shouldn't have been surprised for Winters always possessed that dry wit, "You're right. You'll be politely refusing any further treatment, escaping AMA, while trying to ensure the next wave of supplies makes it our way."

This prompted a soft scoff in a form of a weak attempt at a laugh from Winters which quickly turned into a harsh coughing. His expression returning to the furrowed brow and grimace as pain seemed to flare along his shrapnel ridden body. Nix ignore the flecks of blood that spotted his tanned uniform, though he continued to soothingly run his hand through his dying best friend's hair.

"Easy, easy." Nix helplessly tried to verbally soothe the other as he coughed and gagged on his own blood, the colour a bright crimson, "Hang in there."

The desperation was back, his tone now a panicked pleading. Either with Winters or with God to keep his best friend alive long enough for medical help. Now begging for a mere chance as it seemed to be slipping by before his eyes.

"Sh, Doc's here. Doc's here." The second Captain repeated as the medic crashed to his knees on the other side of their wounded battalion leader, the minor relief at finally having the trusted medic here was diminished by drowning choking noise that had blood bubbling up from his friend's mouth and sliding thickly down his cheek. The tension his frame held from the extent of pain radiating from his injuries increasing before completely falling away.

Nixon stared, mouth agape and eyes unnaturally wide, before his gaze snapped towards the medic, unbridled fury blazing in his brown eyes at seeing the medic merely sitting forlorn looking back on his hunches.

"Fucking do something!" Nixon yelled, his tone holding with the enraged attitude until the very end where it cracked. He knew Winters was gone, his friend, his best friend. Dead. He'd never shared coffee with him on a cold day again, never run him about his no drinking/smoking rules, never would Nix say the right thing that'd have the other smiling that halfway smile where his eyes would speak of the true humour he felt. Never again.

Collapsing forward until his forehead meet Winters' chest, Nix tried to bit back a sob as a hand of his tightly clutched the front of his friend's uniform. The brunette captain's frame trembled severely, another visible sign of the emotional torment now ragging inside the grief ridden man.

Then raising back up after a moment, Captain Nixon looked towards the Doc, eyes red rimmed now and brow pinched in resolved concentration. Nodding singularly to the medic, silently communicating that he wasn't lost, the lone Captain slide out from under the corpse to stand once more, ignoring the stickiness of the blood freezing and coagulating on the fabric of his ODs. His hands were another story, him having to wipe them across his jacket's front when they slipped as he gripped his rifle once more.

Now back on his feet and armed, Nix joined First Sargent Lipton in checking over the men. Spina reporting a replacement who's name didn't stick in his head had taken a shrapnel shard to the arm and required stitching up, but minus that no other major injuries to the rest of the men. Cigarettes were alight by everyman as the adrenaline seeped away leaving the atmosphere a dull bone-weary numb as the eerie silence descended, the occasional murmur between men punctuated it. Nothing substantial was said as each took stock of being alive, surviving yet again.

The sole Captain left in their humble encampment dispassionately stumbled back towards were he left Roe with the fallen soldier. Mind hazy, feeling more fogged over than that which entwined though the trees of the surrounding forest. The scene forcefully replaying in his head of mere minutes before, the fast paced actions pre-explosion then the agonising realisation and watching helpless as his best friend died in his arms. It was so fucking cliché that Nix found himself laughing, the sound hoarse and bitter and so thoroughly exhausted.

He'd always figured Dick for the cliché type; the Prince Charming type of lover that'd woe the lovely maiden with his quiet gentleman attitude and medals gained in time of war. To marry the virgin of his dreams, to have an eloquent home and provide for a growing family which'd fit a picturesque life. Slowly that image, conjured up upon first meeting the stick-in-the-mud of a lieutenant at Toccoa and dealing with the ramrod strictness of said lieutenant, began to change. He certainly still pinned Dick as cliché with the precise military attitude the man kept, but the visions of a wife with children ceased to come to his mind whenever they happened to discuss the future. The approaching deployment and training always had taken precedence, and Nix couldn't imagine his life without the red head. Thus the initial image was no longer possible, if Nix had a say. And he certainly did according to Dick the last time they spoke about such things.

Now- - Now Nix's foot steps crunched the dirt and tree splintered snow as he approached the now covered body of the former Captain. Roe stood a few paces back, head tucked low in his pulled up collar to give Captain Nix a sense of privacy with Roe having to leave, needing to ensure the mental capacity of his superior officer didn't shatter like he'd seen many before. And many had been over lesser circumstances than losing such a close friend.

Rifle slipping from his fingers loose grip to slap against the frozen snow ladened ground, Nix's gaze stayed trained on the still form laying under a well used army issued blanket. The dark iris of his eyes scarily devoid of emotion, a stark difference from when Doc Roe had last caught his eye. The difference and utter lack of feeling set Roe on more of an edge since he couldn't tell what was happening to his CO. With his expression mirroring that of his eyes, Roe was left to merely watch and wait, praying internally for the grieving man's sanity and mostly his heart.

"Sir, Lieutenant Dike is wantin- - Oh, fuck." It was a rarity to hear any form of a cuss word from First Sergeant Lipton, outside of an occasional 'damn', but the sight of Captain Nix standing despondently over a covered fallen form had only one implication. And it warranted the breathy whispered curse, his own heart twinged at the ache of losing a beloved leader. It was rare to find one that truly cared for each man under their command and who the men respected, trusted in turn.

Still Lip glanced over at Roe, his gaze knowing yet hopeful the medic would shake his head in negative to his silent question of if that blanket covered the body of Captain Winters. At the tiny bob of a nod from the sullen man, Lip sighed heavily, white fog-like trindles encircling the air at the heavy gust, the sound conveying weariness above all else. Bastogne had taken too many lives for the apparent uselessness they had except merely standing as a damageable blockade.

"Sir,- -"

Whatever the First Sergeant had been about to say was interrupted by Nixon collapsing onto his knees, causing both the Medic and Sergeant to surge forward -arms outstretched and expressions crease more so in concern for the Captain- though Roe was the only one to place a hand on Nix's upper arm. The medical training taking over the Cajun's instincts as he automatically glanced over his CO for injuries, even when knowing the only wounds were to the Captain's heart and mind.

Lipton glanced backwards at hearing the sound of approaching footsteps, audible from the soft crunching of the snow behind the standard tread of jump boots. The form of George Luz paused, snapping to a stop as if suddenly realising a wall sprung up in front of him. Dark eyes wide, donning realisation settling on his grim features, them finding Lip's own eyes to confirm the sight, much like Lip did moments before with Roe. And Lip found himself shaking his head, mirroring that of Roe's actions. And Luz nodded back once, glancing away then walking a few paces back to provide the officers and medic privacy, yet remaining near enough to assist or take orders if needed.

"Capt'n Nixon, sir?" Roe's asked quietly, his Cajun lilt accenting the words thoroughly though at receiving no answer or action out of the man, the medic forced his natural accent from his voice to ensure nothing was misunderstood, "Captain? Sir?!"

The vacant gaze continued, devoid of anything life-like, as the single Captain stared down at Captain Winters' covered frame. His mind kept reeling over the incident like a scratched record. It constantly repeating back, though the initial bit was blurred the ending was vividly clear as if he was physically experiencing it all over again.

"Captain! Can you hear me?! Sir!"

Unable to respond as the world began to tilt and ironically -since the surrounding area was layered in snow- darkness encroached along the edges of his vision before completely enveloping it. His frame listed sideways, the weakly rebuilding peace that uneasily settled after every sporadic barrage fractures at the concerned calling of Easy's technician fourth grade and first sergeant.  
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_Chapter 2: That Morning _


End file.
